


To leave

by orphan_account



Series: Haikyuu!! Random Fics [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Break Up, M/M, Not Beta Read, Post-Canon, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:47:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24933994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Kiyoomi was folding his last remaining shirts, arranging them in the suitcase Akaashi had lent him as neatly as he could. His trembling hands made the task rather difficult but he wanted to be done and gone as soon as possible. He didn't want to risk running into Atsumu again.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji & Sakusa Kiyoomi, Bokuto Koutarou & Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: Haikyuu!! Random Fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1800349
Comments: 8
Kudos: 60





	To leave

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I'm sorry for what you're about to read. Second of all, I'm not really sorry.
> 
> Little hc of mine concerning this fic :  
> \- Bokuto likes to give cheek kisses to his friends  
> \- Sakusa & Bokuto & Akaashi are really good friends and Sakusa tolerates (read : is actually fond of) hugs and physical display of affection
> 
> Big shout out to Vic for helping me see this through the end when I was stuck and struggling!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

_Et tournent, et tournent dans ma tête_ _  
Les images du long métrage  
Où tu es belle et moi la bête  
Et la belle n'est jamais sage  
Quand tu diras que c'est ma faute  
Que je n'ai jamais su t'aimer  
Au diable toi et tes apôtres  
Je m'en vais_

Kiyoomi was folding his last remaining shirts, arranging them in the suitcase Akaashi had lent him as neatly as he could. His trembling hands made the task rather difficult but he wanted to be done and gone as soon as possible. He didn’t want to risk running into Atsumu again. Keeping his feelings in check during practice was one thing – he was a professional after all – but containing their overwhelming flow in the privacy of the place he used to call home was another. The entire apartment echoed with memories of laughter, of petty fights and banter, of soft moans and hushed promises he would never be able to forget. Add Atsumu in the picture and he would be sure to break down in tears in a second.

The longer he stayed in there, in what used to be their shared space, the easier it was for pain to claw its way between his ribs and pluck them open like some kind of instrument, revealing the battered thing that held the place of his heart. He’d never felt like that before and he never wanted to feel like that ever again.

Kiyoomi wanted to stop feeling altogether. But he couldn’t.

He couldn’t and it was frustrating to the point he started to just tear his shirts off the hangers, rolling them in balls and throwing them in the suitcase, not caring anymore. His breath caught in his throat, threatening to suffocate him if he didn’t go faster, if he didn’t leave as quickly as he could. He was almost done anyway, he could hold it in a bit longer, he would hold it until…

His fingers closed around the soft grey material of the hoodie he had worn the night it had happened.

* * *

Kiyoomi shoved Atsumu out of his way as the latter opened the door, barging in their apartment like some kind of mad man, shaking with anger. There was no reaction from Atsumu, no offended squawk or “ _Geez, calm down Omi-kun_ ”. Just calm footsteps entering the living room as Kiyoomi paced back and forth between the coffee table and the couch. He stood there, hands in the pockets of his jeans, bored expression on his face. Like Kiyoomi’s anger wasn’t justified. Like he didn’t have any right to be pissed off at his boyfriend for openly flirting with Hinata in front of the whole team. While Kiyoomi was present.

He wasn’t overreacting. He wasn’t.

“What the fuck Atsumu?” he hissed finally, stopping his pacing right in front of Atsumu, taking all the advantage his few inches on the other man granted him to glare down at him with fury.

He was standing barely a few centimeters away from the blond, forcing him to crane his neck to look at Kiyoomi. But the look on his face made him feel like he was the one being looked down on.

Atsumu’s beautiful brown eyes were just as cold as the weather outside, devoid of any kind of emotions.

“What exactly do ya want me to say, Omi-kun? That I’m sorry?”

He tilted his head then, the ugly rictus deforming his lips far from the smile he was giving Hinata barely half an hour ago.

“Because I’m not.”

Kiyoomi flinched at that, taking a step back in his shock like the blond’s words had physically hurt him. And it might as well had. He could feel the cracks beginning to appear, weakening his already fragile heart.

What was he saying? What was Atsumu saying?

“Is this some kind of a joke to you? What kind of twisted sense of humor do you have?” he spat.

Atsumu rolled his eyes with laugh, letting himself fall on the couch, arms resting on the backrest and feet propped up on the coffee table. Something Kiyoomi hated and he knew it. He raised his gaze towards the taller man again, the mocking glint in his eyes not sitting right with the whole situation.

“It’s not a joke Omi, that’s just the harsh truth!” he said again with laugh. “I’m not sorry for flirtin’ with Shoyo-kun and ya won’t get me to apologize while I was barely tryin’ to get someone to give me some kind of attention.”

Attention? That’s what he wanted?

“I was there too, you fucking dumbass. If you wanted someone to pay attention to you so badly you could have just tried and talked to me instead of pulling… Whatever that was. Unless you wanted to make me jealous. If that’s the case, well, good job! I’m jealous and pissed out of my mind.”

This ugly laughter echoed in the room again, grating Kiyoomi’s ear like nails on a chalkboard.

“Yer getting this wrong, Sakusa.” ( _Wait. “Sakusa”?_ ) “I wasn’t tryin’ to get ya jealous. I was tryin’ to get in Shoyo’s pants. Simple as that.”

Bile rose in Kiyoomi’s throat, burning him. He couldn’t have heard this right. This was all a bad, alcohol induced dream he would wake up from if only he could find a way to wake himself up. Surely he would wake up next to Atsumu, in their bed, the blond still asleep as usual. But the dread making his back stiffen assured him this was the plain, harsh reality.

“What are you-”

“I’m tired of ya, Sakusa,” he drawled out, disinterested eyes boring into him from below. “Bein’ with ya feels like bein in chains. Ya barely ever initiate any contact. I feel lonely, ya know?

“You know it’s hard-”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he interrupted Kiyoomi again, batting his hand in the air in a dismissive gesture. “It’s hard for ya.”

The mocking tone made him flinch again. Atsumu had never been this openly mean to him. Obnoxious and teasing, yes. But this was a whole new level.

“I’m tired of ya,” he repeated, still lounging on the couch like they were discussing the weather. “And I think it’s time fer me to change. So we probably should end this.”

It dawned on him then.

Kiyoomi had hoped until the last second that this was some kind of weird, tasteless prank Atsumu had decided to pull on him. But the overly fake, saccharine sweet smile on the other man’s face somehow told him exactly what he didn’t want to acknowledge. This whole thing had never been as important for Atsumu as it had been to him. This whole time, their relationship had meant the world to Kiyoomi while it had barely meant anything to the other.

Tears prickled behind his eyelids as Kiyoomi clenched his fists, nails digging crescents into the tender flesh of his palms. Pain would keep them at bay. It would keep the pain at bay long enough for Kiyoomi to end this conversation with some dignity. Or so he hoped.

“ _You_ ,” he managed to utter between gritted teeth, vainly trying to keep the tremor out of his voice, “are the most despicable being on this planet, Miya.”

Atsumu laughed that ugly thing again.

“Am I now?”

“Yes. You are. I can’t wait for the world to see how rotten you really are.”

“But they won’t. Because they’ll never know.”

_What?_

“What do ya think Omi-kun?” (Kiyoomi wanted to punch him for calling him that. He didn’t have any right to call him that after what he had just said.) “I’m not the one people will come after when they realize we broke up. Because I’m not the emotionless one out of the two of us.”

“I’m not-”

“Yer not what?” he snapped viciously. “Emotionless? Maybe not. But, does the world know that?”

Atsumu leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, peering up at Kiyoomi from below. Kiyoomi knew exactly what he was implying and it made his throat constrict, his blood boil, in anger and frustration. Because Atsumu was right. He would never get any shit for their break up, but Kiyoomi would. Because Atsumu was bright and chatty and friendly while Kiyoomi was surly, gloomy and unapproachable. People would take Atsumu’s side in a second, blaming their downfall on Kiyoomi without even trying to comprehend. A smirk stretched Atsumu’s lips, slowly, tauntingly, as he probably could see realization in the other man’s eyes.

“Go fuck yourself, Miya,” he spat before storming out of the apartment.

 _Et ce qui perle sur mon front_ _  
Gouttes de pluie, gouttes de froid  
Donne des ailes, donne dont  
L'envie de m'éloigner de toi  
Et mes larmes, et mes armes  
Sont ma peine, ma peine plus que la haine  
Et mes larmes, mes larmes  
Dieu que j'ai mal_

It was raining when he exited the building, water rapidly soaking his clothes and his hair as he walked down the street in direction of the station. Soon enough, water was trickling down his face, making it impossible for whoever crossing his path to discern his tears from the raindrops.

There was only one place he could go to, one safe haven he could seek some comfort from while being in Osaka. And it was barely one station away. But when he finally arrived in front of the door, finger pressing the doorbell, a wave of guilt washed over him. Akaashi was visiting from Tokyo this weekend. That was why Bokuto hadn’t tagged along for their weekly team dinner, preferring to stay home with his long term boyfriend. He didn’t want to intrude on their time together. But at the same time, he didn’t want to go back ho- to the apartment where he lived, he didn’t want to see Atsumu. He didn’t want to feel.

But the door opened and he was left with no choice to make.

“Oh Omi-Omi! What are you-”

Bokuto didn’t speak any further. A loud sob escaped Kiyoomi’s lips, wracking his body with more force than expected, and he fell forward, knees buckling. Catching him right on time, Bokuto wrapped him in a tight hug, not caring in the slightest that Kiyoomi’s clothes were drenched in water and dirty. He just held his friend close, keeping him up as he shook uncontrollably, from the cold and from his pain.

“Omi-Omi-”

“Don’t say that name,” he managed between two hiccups. “Please don’t say that name, it hurts. It hurts so much.”

The arms around him tightened even more. Kiyoomi would never admit how much it grounded him and calmed him down. But right now was not the time for anything like pride, he thought as he buried his face into the other man’s shoulder, grasping tightly at the back of his shirt, knuckles turning white. Right now, what he needed was comfort and a sense of safety and home Bokuto had always provided him since the beginning of their friendship. He didn’t know what he would have done if he hadn’t had Bokuto to turn to in this moment.

“Bokuto-san, who was it?” came Akaashi’s voice from the hallway and Kiyoomi raised his eyes just in time to see the black haired man froze in the genkan behind Bokuto.

Understanding washed over Akaashi’s face, surprise being replaced by something softer as he took the few steps to join them on the threshold, placing his hand over one of Kiyoomi’s fist.

“Bokuto-san,” he said again in a gentle voice as to not startle Kiyoomi. “I’ll go make some tea. Why don’t you lend Sakusa-san some dry clothes and a towel so he can shower?”

One warm shower and a cup of tea later, Kiyoomi was sitting between the young couple on Bokuto’s couch, dressed in some of the latter’s clothes. His knees were protectively drawn to his chest, chin resting on top of them, arms wrapped around them while Bokuto’s head rested comfortably on his shoulder, providing him with some kind of anchor, helping him stay grounded and not letting himself spiral into a panicking state.

No one talked, but the question was there, hovering over in the air between the three of them without ever being formulated.

“Sakusa-san…”

Akaashi’s calm voice was the last straw. The dam broke and Kiyoomi let everything unravel. What had happened earlier at the restaurant, their talk, how Atsumu had struck every goddamn chord just the right way to make Kiyoomi crumble. How he had only wanted one thing and it was to be as far as possible from Atsumu and their apartment. The more he talked, the tighter his throat became, making it near impossible for him to try and keep an even voice. With every word he spoke a new crack appeared in his heart, little pieces falling and shattering in millions little bits at the end of every sentence.

Soon enough, he felt completely empty, the hollow space in his ribcage where his heart used to reside feeling like an abandoned house, full of dead memories. He was exhausted. The tears stains on his cheeks had longed since dried and there was nothing left for him to feel except for numbing, deep sorrow.

“You know what Om-Sakusa?” Bokuto finally interjected after a long, heavy silence.

Kiyoomi turned his head to glance at him. The other man was looking at him now, cheek squished against his shoulder as he barely moved his head to lock eyes with him, intense golden irises focused on Kiyoomi.

“I think people who think like Tsumu can fuck off.”

Kiyoomi’s eyes widen.

He had learned, during the past two years of their friendship, that Bokuto rarely ever lost his temper but that when he did, he was definitely scarier than even Kiyoomi himself. Everything reside within his eyes; they always held so much intensity he had been surprised the first time it had happened.

“You’re not mean intrinsically,” he continued, eyes quickly glancing too Akaashi, probably to check with him that he had used the word correctly, Kiyoomi thought. “You’re a jerk-”

“Bokuto-san-”

“No,” Kiyoomi cut softly before Akaashi could try to scold his boyfriend. “He’s not wrong. There’s definitely less harsh way to say it, but I’m notorious for being exactly that.”

“Yes, but you’re still human! You still have emotions and if people can’t understand that, then they don’t deserve to know you at all!”

Bokuto was sulking now, arms crossed and brows furrowed.

“I’ll deal. Don’t worry,” Kiyoomi murmured as he let himself fall against Bokuto’s side and laid his head on his friend’s shoulder, closing his eyes when he felt the tears well up again.

The mention of Atsumu’s name was finally catching up to his brain and he felt his lips tremble with a barely repressed sob, so he just buried his face in Bokuto’s clothed shoulder and let go of everything, feeling Akaashi’s warm presence press against his side as he whispered sweet reassurances to try and cancel out Kiyoomi’s pleading sobs.

To no avail.

* * *

Kiyoomi shook his head, fingers slowly letting go of the material of the hoodie, bypassing it, and continued to gather his clothes. The hoodie was Atsumu’s, not his. There was no reason for him to take it, no matter how much he loved it. One week ago, the one thing in his life he had taken for granted had been ripped away from him by none other than the person he loved. He didn’t need a constant reminder other than having to deal with the man in question on a daily basis. But on the other hand, it might be a good occasion to take Bokuto on his offer to burn something belonging to Atsumu to exorcize some of his pain, as per his friend’s words.

His friend, he thought, who had been an endless source of comfort and support this past week. Bokuto’s overly joyous demeanor, which always tended to rub him the wrong way in the morning, had been the push he had needed every day to go on with his life instead of moping around. His numerous hugs and kisses on the cheek had reassured him and grounded him when he had felt the anxiety rise, physical proof of his friend’s love he usually avoided with a disgusted grimace. He would eternally grateful for Bokuto’s and Akaashi’s friendship despite their rocky start – mostly on Kiyoomi’s part, Bokuto had always considered him his friend, ever since he had joined the Jackals, and apparently Akaashi had deemed him worthy shortly after. The man had been his rock for the past week and he didn’t know what he would have done without him.

Feeling the premises of tears, he inhaled deeply, trying to shove them back down. He couldn’t let himself be overwhelmed by emotions again if he wanted to leave soon.

“How out of character of me. Atsumu would be so disappointed,” he spat out loud in an acidic voice, surprising himself with the amount of venom he had managed to put behind his words despite the tears threatening to overflow.

Kiyoomi laughed then. And it was the most disgusting sound he had ever heard. It was dissonant and tortured; hoarse and grating to the ears. He loathed this sound. It was abhorrent.

It was Atsumu’s making.

A hiccup suddenly came to disrupt his grotesque cacophony as he realized with horror that he had been crying since the beginning. The only thing that kept him from completely crumble on himself and spiral down into another bout of anxiety was a text from Bokuto, signaling him he was downstairs with Akaashi and his car to pick him up, shortly followed by a knock on the apartment door that echoed throughout the entire flat, sounding overly loud in the deadly silence.

He tried to wipe away the tears, rubbing probably too roughly his already puffy eyes. But what was the use? He didn’t need to pretend, not in front of them. Especially not in front of them. Call it a habit, a reflex. Maybe (certainly) that was what had costed him is relationship with Atsumu. No. There was no use for _what ifs_. It had happened. It would have happened at some point anyway. There was no dwelling on it now that it was over.

The last few articles of clothing that didn’t fit in the suitcase – they would have fitted if only he had taken the time to do it correctly – were thrown into the backpack he had taken with him and he fled the room, almost running in the hallway towards the genkan.

Akaashi was patiently waiting behind the door when he opened. There was no words exchanged, but they didn’t need it. Kiyoomi’s red, blotchy face spoke volume about his current state and Akaashi, always the considerate one, didn’t mention it, simply taking the suitcase handle from the other’s lax fingers, his other hand wrapping around his wrist as Kiyoomi locked the door. He never let go of him. Not in the elevator, nor when they exited the building and Bokuto was there to pick him up and even slipped his fingers between Kiyoomi’s as they both settled in the back sit.

They sat in silence for a long minute, Kiyoomi looking through the window at the apartment building, eyes landing on curtains he knew all too well. He was leaving a part of him behind. Memories, feelings, trinkets and souvenirs. But it was for the better. He needed to move on. And that’s exactly what he meant through his words as Bokuto turned in his sit to ruffle his hair with a goofy smile and kind eyes.

“Let’s just leave.”

 _Et tournent, et tournent dans ma tête_ _  
Les images du long métrage  
Où tu es belle et moi la bête  
Et la belle n'est jamais sage  
Quand tu diras que c'est ma faute  
Que je n'ai jamais su t'aimer  
Au diable toi et tes apôtres_

_  
**Je m'en vais** _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> This fic is based on my interpretation of Je m'en vais by Vianney  
> (and yes, I did slip some bokuakasaku agenda at the end of this fic)
> 
> You can also find me on twitter @flaminpumpkin, you're allowed to come yell at me for this one, I'll take responsability ^^'


End file.
